


“Just go to him.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [44]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of possible first kisses between these two.





	“Just go to him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Robin’s turn to be drunk...

“So here’s the thing,” Ilsa said, waving her almost-empty wine glass a little unsteadily at Robin. “Here’s the thing. You two are jus’ meant to be together. ‘S obvious.”

Robin squinted at her, and then at her own empty glass, trying to remember how many glasses there had been. “Really?” she said. “I don’ think Cormoran thinks so.”

“Robin.” Ilsa said firmly. “Robin.” She paused a moment to swallow the last mouthful of wine in her glass, then set it down and pushed it aside. She rested her elbows on the pub table and leaned forward to emphasise her point. “Robin, he so does. He’s crazy ‘bout you, believe me.”

“Mmm...” Robin pulled a sceptical face.

“He is,” Ilsa insisted. “I’ve known him f’rever. Trust me. An’ I think you like him too.”

Robin sighed. She was way beyond that, and tonight she was way beyond pretending any more. “Oh, Ilsa, I’m sooooo crazy about him,” she said. She thought for a moment, and the clarity of the drunk hit her. “I think I love him,” she said firmly. “But he doesn’t...”

“He does!” Ilsa cried. “He does. Oh, Robin, tell him. Just go to him.”

Just go to him. It sounded so simple.

Suddenly it was so simple. Totally simple. Just go to him. I can do that.

“I’m gonna,” Robin said, standing up, unsteady. “I’m going now. Gonna go tell him I love him. It’ll be a kairos moment.” Suddenly she was so sure. It was so obvious.

“That’s a girl!” cried Ilsa, delightedly. “Le’s get a taxi, we can drop you.”

Just go to him.

So Robin found herself ejected from a taxi on Denmark Street, her cheek tingling where Ilsa had kissed it so hard. The cool air sobered her up a little and she wasn’t so wobbly now. She let herself in, climbed the stairs. Up and up. The office was locked, so he must be in his flat. Up again. No nerves, ready for her kairos moment. Just go to him.

There was no answer to her soft knock, so she tried the handle, and of course it opened. The flat was dark, and for a moment she wondered if he was even in. Then she heard the snoring coming from his bedroom. She looked at her watch in the dim light from the stairwell. She hadn’t realised it was so late. Oops, she thought.

Just go to him.

She crept across to the bedroom door and peered in. Strike was stretched out asleep under a sheet. Moonlight slanted across the bed. He looked gorgeous.

Should she wake him? She gazed at him for a while. So gorgeous. I love him so much, she thought woozily. She was tired suddenly, swaying a little. Maybe the kairos moment could wait until the morning. So tired. She slipped off her shoes and slid out of her dress. She skirted the bed quietly and climbed in the other side, sliding in under the sheet. She’d be his lovely surprise in the morning, and then she could tell him she loved him. After a little sleep. Jus’ need to sleep. She crept close to his warmth and curled up, content.

 

....

 

Early morning summer sunlight slanted across the bed. Strike came slowly to consciousness, feeling well rested. An early night after a long, hard week of tailing several suspects for different clients had been a good idea. He might even reward himself with a fry-up from the cafe down the road. His Saturday lay ahead, deliciously empty.

He stretched, and then jumped, startled, as his arm brushed bare skin next to him, eliciting a snore from the slumbering figure. He rolled his head and stared in utter disbelief at the red-gold hair tangled on the pillow.

Waking up in the morning with a woman in his bed was by no means a novel experience for Strike. Waking up next to a woman he hadn’t gone to bed with was new, however.

For a wild moment he wondered if he had in fact slept with her the night before, a thought swiftly dismissed. He remembered perfectly well that he’d had an early night after an evening consuming nothing stronger than tea, knowing he’d benefit from the sleep more. He lay for some minutes, looking at her. That was definitely Robin, there was no mistaking her hair even though she was facing away from him. He could smell her perfume. She shifted in her sleep and the sheet fell away from her body, revealing a strappy vest top and knickers. His eyes took in her figure before he could drag them away, burning an image of soft curves and creamy freckled skin into his mind that he knew he’d never erase. What on earth was she doing here, barely dressed and asleep in his bed, all creamy skin and tousled hair? Desire stirred within him and he firmly ignored it. He reached out and very gingerly pulled the sheet back up to cover her again.

Before he could work out what to do next, she suddenly snorted and rolled towards him. Snatching his hand back, Strike hurriedly scooted away across the bed, and the combination of their movements woke her. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

There was a pause, during which he saw confusion, then comprehension and then finally horror in her eyes. Then to his amusement she simply closed them again.

“Good morning,” he said. Robin gave a small groan.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. “So hung over. Did we...?” She half opened one eye and peered at him, a blush creeping up her neck.

“No,” Strike replied, grinning now at her discomfort. “I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered that. So, Robin, I have to ask,” he went on. “Why are you in my bed?”

She groaned again. Scattered memories were creeping back sheepishly into her brain, as though apologetic for having been absent. Thank God he’d been asleep. She’d been so sure that she was going to create this wonderful moment where in a film they’d walk off into the sunset together. In the hard, hungover light of day she couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous.

“I was out with Ilsa,” she said groggily. “There was a lot of wine.”

“And you decided to just come and get into bed with me?” Strike asked sceptically, and Robin gave a squeak of embarrassment and pulled the sheet up over her head.

There was another pause.

“Right,” Strike said. “I’m going down to the cafe opposite to get you a very large coffee. Don’t go anywhere.”

Robin groaned again and rolled back over to face the wall. She knew she ought to get up and leave. Hot mortification roiled below the headache and nausea.

Strike sat up and reached for his prosthesis, reflecting that it was very lucky he was wearing T-shirt and boxers. In the summer heat of his attic room he often slept naked. He wondered at the chain of events that had led her to his bed. He was surprised he hadn’t woken. His subconscious must have been aware that it was her. He was pretty sure his years in the Army would have had him alert instantly at the presence of a stranger while he slept.

His eyes widened a little at the pile of her clothes on the floor. He pulled on trousers, grabbed his wallet and cigarettes. “I’ll be ten minutes,” he said. “Please don’t leave.”

As soon as he was gone, Robin rolled out of bed. She paused in horror when she saw how little she was wearing. At least she’d been covered by the sheet. She pulled her clothes back on and went to the little bathroom. Hunting under the sink, she found an unopened toothbrush. I’ll replace it, she thought. Her teeth definitely needed cleaning.

By the time she had splashed cold water on her face and scrubbed her teeth, she could hear his footsteps coming back up the stairs.

Strike appeared with two coffees and looked very relieved to see her still there. He handed her a large Americano and smiled gently. “Come and sit down,” he said, taking a seat at the little dining table.

Robin couldn’t manage to meet his eye, but she slid into the other chair and cupped her hands around her coffee. She had no idea what to say to him, how to explain. She knew he’d be able to tell if she wasn’t truthful.

He was waiting for her to start. She sighed. “I didn’t realise how late it was, and I had something I really wanted to tell you,” she said slowly. “And I was really drunk and really tired and it seemed like a good idea at the time to go to sleep and tell you in the morning. I’m sorry, it was beyond inappropriate.”

“What did you want to tell me that was so important?” he asked, and she blushed hard. Strike, who had endured much questioning from Ilsa lately, had a sudden feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Hope jumped in his heart.

Robin wasn’t saying anything. He took a risk, slid his hand across the table and cupped it around hers. “Robin...” he said gently. She raised her eyes to his, shy, and saw the way he was looking at her.

He pulled gently on her hand, and she stood and moved round the table towards him. He held her gaze, still looking at her with fondness and hope, and suddenly she didn’t need to say it. She leaned down and kissed him, gently, her lips to his. His other hand slid into her hair, and he pushed his chair back and pulled her onto his lap, still kissing her. She giggled a little against him, so happy suddenly, and kissed him harder, her tongue seeking his.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Robin’s phone started pinging insistently from her bag as a series of messages announced themselves. She broke off the kiss and grinned as him, a little breathless. “Ilsa’s awake,” she said, and Strike laughed.

“Did she know you were coming here?” he asked, and Robin giggled. “She kind of made me,” she said. “She dropped me here in a taxi.”

Strike smiled. “I must remember to thank her for my late night delivery.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written just for the look on Strike’s face in the morning :D


End file.
